


Do Like Real People Do

by MelancholyMacaw



Category: American McGee's Alice
Genre: Alice is a little cagey and she has every right to be, Canon Compliant, F/F, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Self-Insert, relatively slow burn, you're the neice of a barber who is also not mentally well
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22095943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelancholyMacaw/pseuds/MelancholyMacaw
Summary: Shortly before Alice shoved Doctor Angus Bumby into an oncoming steam train, he mentioned his oh-so-haughty tone that he was expecting her replacement- a fresh new face ready to be manipulated, stamped, and sold for auction.He did not mention, however, that the replacement was you- unluckily enough, you and Alice had already made a shakey acquaintance.
Relationships: Alice Liddell (American McGee's Alice)/Original Female Character, Alice Liddell (American McGee's Alice)/Reader, Alice Liddell/(Female)Reader
Comments: 32
Kudos: 67





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write a fic for this for literal years and I finally have no fear to be able to do so!  
> -  
> I cannot imagine, in any way, shape, or form, that Alice would ever be romantically attracted to men after all she's been through. Physically, I don't believe she'd be attracted to anyone at all.  
> And I understand that, to be perfectly honest, she likely wouldn't be romantically interested in people as a rule, what with running around London helping the youth that Bumby has abused.  
> That being said, I love Alice, and I have a ridiculously soft and hopeful heart- if we aren't going to get canon for how she turned out, I will write it myself and she Will have a girlfriend (who, in this case, is you!)  
> -  
> If you ID as male and use he/him pronouns, this won't be the fic for you. Sorry!  
> -  
> I know this is very niche, but I hope the few people it can apply to enjoy it!
> 
> Cheers!  
> -Bea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shortly before Alice shoved Doctor Angus Bumby into an oncoming steam train, he mentioned his oh-so-haughty tone that he was expecting her replacement- a fresh new face ready to be manipulated, stamped, and sold for auction.
> 
> He did not mention, however, that the replacement was you- unluckily enough, you and Alice had already made a shakey acquaintance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've finally gotten the chapter up, gosh! I've been trying very hard to get this completed, so hopefully this will do just fine for a starter!
> 
> Admittedly, I haven't written Alice before, so if there are any pointers, I would be most appreciative- anyway, enjoy!
> 
> Cheers!  
> -Bea

_ “The Liddell girl’s off’er nut again. Fourth time since yesterday.” _

These were the words you heard as you stepped out of the newly-but-not-ornately-crafted train car and into an equally newly-but-not-ornately-crafted train station. At the time, you paid them no mind- they’d come from a railroad attendant that was hurriedly jogging down the brick stairs with another attendant, presumably to help with luggage.  _ Perhaps he’s just paid to be polite. That seems like an easy job. _

You clutched the handle of your suitcase while you blindly followed the set of brown coat-tails that had been guiding you since you stepped onto the train in Oxford. Most of the people on the train were tutting and remarking at the speed and efficiency of the newly constructed vehicle with who was often their spouse, men in tailored suits and ladies in fine dresses simply riding the train to ride the train. The coattails you followed instead belonged to your uncle, and he’d ridden the train for business.

A portly fellow with gray hair, a brown tweed suit that had seen better days, and glasses that fell altogether to far toward the end of his nose was your uncle- kind, if absentminded, and more than a little lonely as a widower. Come to think of it, you never really knew your aunt. 

You were more than happy to have a kind but distracted uncle, especially in the streets of London. You shouldn’t complain, really- you were to be living with him on the East End, where the only rampant crime was how tacky your neighbors could make their houses look from the outside. But London was a scary place, full of loud noises and rude people and smog so thick that even when you could see the sky, it was a pale and sickly green. And given the kind of company that was most often found in the East End? Snobbish ‘gentleman’ and gossiping, two-faced madames and ladies, not to mention their spoiled and abhorrent offspring. Before you had officially begun the ‘move’ to London and you were merely visiting your uncle’s shop, you’d met more than enough of each kind- lucky you, they were a large portion of his clientele. And even luckier you, that meant that you would be seeing them again- a lot.

You’d be lying if you said you were thrilled to live here. But here was better than nothing, even if that nothing was going back to Oxford. 

Even beginning to think about it, your mind shut it out and tucked it away.  _ I’ll think no more of that place- not until I’ve settled in. Control yourself. If Uncle Philip won’t scold me- and I know he won’t- then I shall have to do it myself. _

Stepping onto the platform among the crush of silk and satin, Uncle Philip squinted blindly around the platform, turning this way and that. “Oh good lord. I don’t see the doctor anywhere.”

You, since having begun to mutter to yourself and attempt to come up with some regimen for discipline, blinked and looked up, “Sir?”

He coughed into the crook of his arm as the stink of the train engine beginning to creep into the platform’s compartment. “The fellow, the fellow uh… hmm.” His thoughts crept out of his head as soon as they entered, and he struggled to find them again.

Uncle Philip had made only a passive mention of a doctor at a time when you were very-much not paying attention. Thusly, you had absolutely no clue what he was talking about.

He began to walk through the thinning crowd and up towards the stairs. You complied and were happy enough to follow toward the promise of London’s version of sunlight. The noise began to get less aggressive the further up you got, thank god- the rattling, the chattering, and the uncessaint wailing of the horn had nearly knocked your eyes out of your skull when you first docked at the platform. It was silly of you to expect a breath of fresh air, as none greeted you when you exited the tunnel- it was London, after all.

Your nose wrinkled- the city’s smell was so utterly acrid that it made your mouth taste bitter. 

Uncle Philip had busied himself with looking around again, turning this way and that with a puzzled expression on his face whilst scratching his head. “I’ve no earthly idea where he could be. In his correspondence-” He patted his chest pockets, his hip pockets, and then his chest pockets again until he found a wrinkled piece of paper.

He handed it to you and sniffed, “Read that signature for me, dear. The penmanship is excellent but the writing is so small.”

Before you allowed yourself to wonder as to why he would consider the quality of the penmanship, you read the letter. “Dr. Angus Bumby, Prop. Houndsditch Home for Wayward Youth.”

Your brow furrowed. “Uncle, I’m not a wayward youth. The only person more straight-laced than me is you.”

Uncle Philip scoffed, taking the paper and tucking it back into his jacket. “You’ll prove yourself otherwise with words like those, my dear. You’re not living there. You’re no wayward youth. We merely uh… we merely need to book you in for an assessment. Dr. Bumby is a therapist.”

Your heart sank at the word ‘assessment’, but all you could manage was, “He also runs an orphanage?”

“Evidently. I’ve only ever seen the man when he’s come in for a trim.” Uncle Philip began walking along the cobbled streets and squinting at every sign you passed by and stopping every three steps.

_ Assessment. He’s going to have me assessed. I’m not mad, I don’t need an assessment. _

You almost ran into him again full-force and fumbled with your suitcase- he’d stopped to ask a passerby of Houndsditch’s location, but you weren’t paying attention.  _ That’s not a symptom of madness, is it? Not paying attention? What even qualifies as mad in London?  _

“Right up the street, big golden placard on the fence. Y’can’t miss it.”

“You have my thanks. (Y/N)! Come along.” Uncle Philip snapped his fingers in front of your face a couple of times and not giving you half a moment to catch up once he started to move immediately after.

You followed close behind him, alternating between glancing at your shoes as they dipped in and out from under the hem of your dress and at the brick that seemed to permeate every surface of the city. The cobblestone around here was still laden with fresh dust, presumably from the construction of the railway on which you had ridden, but even beneath that laid an almost-black layer of grime and gook that had baked itself into the stonework. The bricks that composed the walls and buildings surrounding you fared no better despite the theoretical advantage of being higher off of the ground, though their grime was less black and more of a dingy brown.

As soon as the wall beside you turned into a hostile-looking wrought-iron fence, Uncle Philip stopped in front of it and leaned too close to read the sign that was already perfectly readable. _ The theatrics- are his eyes truly so bad? I can’t imagine they are if he’s a barber, otherwise he’d be missing his fingers. Perhaps the older you get, you start doing things with flourish to amuse yourself. That’s understandable, I suppose- who else would you do them for? _

“Ahah!” His exclamation startled you from your train of thought, and he gestured emphatically to the sign. “There we are! Right, come on, up we go.”

Sure as silver, the plaque welded to the fence read,  _ Houndsditch Home For Wayward Youth- Dr. Angus Bumby, Prop. _

Uncle Philip waltzed forward past the fence, intently heading towards the door. Your stomach twisted again and you reluctantly followed behind him while trying to take in the building. The structure itself wasn’t obscenely ornate- in fact, if it weren’t for the placard, it would be a rather normal building.  _ With these ragged children glaring daggers at us and grime covering the stonework, it could blend right in if not for the red bricks. _

There were indeed children peering at the both of you from the small stone ‘yards’ between the fence and the building, all equally unfriendly looking and each whispering to one another. Needless to say, you tried very much to avoid eye-contact. You saw perched upon the windowsill nearby a remarkably-clean-looking white cat, sunning itself and looking rather content, if not a little hungry.

Uncle Philip reached the door and rapped his knuckles on it- he did it in such a jovial manner that you wondered if perhaps he had been lying and  _ was _ going to drop you off here, and your stomach again twisted at the thought.

The door opened partially, and from inside a rather unamused-looking young woman began glaring at your uncle. “Can I help you?”

“Ah, yes, uhh, Ms…?”

“Liddell.” She opened the door wider and stepped one foot outside, allowing you to get a better look at her. Her gaunt face was framed by haphazardly-cut black hair that barely reached her shoulders, and she looked to have soot smeared in various spots over the thin white apron she wore over an equally-dingy black-and-white-striped blouse. The dark circles under her eyes were accentuated in dullness, as was everything else about her, by the vivid green of her irises. The contrast was striking, and nearly immediately you were hit with a sense of deja vu. 

That sense was only furthered when her eyes snapped towards you, prompting you to look away nervously- she seemed very much like she was on edge, and you weren’t going to risk having a stranger snap at you because you were staring, especially not staring at her eyes.

“Ah, yes, Ms. Liddell. Would you perhaps uh… that is to say, have you any knowledge of the whereabouts of one Dr. Angus Bumby? We were uh… my niece and I were to meet him at the train station, and he’s not shown hide nor hair of himself since our arrival.”

Ms. Liddell looked as though she’d never experienced an emotion in her life. “None whatsoever. He departed earlier today and I’ve not seen him since.”

Uncle Philip’s brow furrowed and he squinted through his spectacles again. “Odd. How-how odd, very odd indeed. It was my… my, my… one moment, uh…” Despite having just placed the letter into his jacket, he seemed to have already lost it in the brief walk up the street.

You were no more part of the conversation than the white cat, which you were currently making a fool of yourself trying to beckon over. You were slightly bent at the hip and holding your gently-curled fingers out in the cat’s direction, making a noise akin to ‘pspspspsps’ and paying no attention whatsoever. The cat had since sat up and was looking at you coyly, as all cats do, but made no effort to move.

“Excuse me.”

You jumped and snapped back into position, and glanced fearfully at the woman atop the stairs. She was looking down at you, perplexed and all but ignoring your uncle, who was still tutting and rifling through his pockets. 

“Ah, s-sorry, mum. Is… is this your cat?”

Her eyes were darting across your face searchingly- she then proceeded to look down at your feet where the cat had slipped down from the windowsill and was rubbing idly against your leg.

She seemed bewildered by your presence and the cat’s acknowledgement thereof, “In a manner of speaking.”

You reached down your knuckles timidly again, and the cat sniffed at them. “What’s her name?”

“Ahah!” Your Uncle plucked the page from within his jacket and held it toward the woman behind the door, who jumped in turn. “There, there yes. Doctor Bumby insisted upon uh… booking an appointment for my dear niece- before beginning life in London? A good doctor, indeed. Odd, I should think- he even offered to meet us uh, meet us at the train station- never known the fellow to be late. Sharp as a tick, he is, ten minutes early to every haircut precisely. Pity he’s gone amok- important work, likely, important work.”

Her green eyes seemed to flash for a moment, the barest of wrinkles forming on her nose before being gone as quickly as it had came. You wondered if you even saw it before she looked at you again, and you were suddenly very interested in your shoes.

“If you’d like to come back tomorrow and try again, you may. I’ve no idea where he’s gone and I’m not his handmaid.” Ms. Liddell said. She made no further move to close the door, and after addressing your uncle, looked at you again. The expression on her face was puzzled and slightly accusatory, though you had no idea what you’d done to earn her ire.

“It’s alright, Uncle, I promise. We can come back tomorrow, we’re bothering her.” You tugged on his sleeve and jerked your head back toward the street.

“What a ninny!” One of the goblin children sneered from somewhere to your right.

“Hush.” Ms. Liddell snapped quickly, and he apparently followed the advice enough to not give another peep.

Uncle Philip looked down his nose at her and tried to clear his throat once again, “Ah, yes. Well… uh, Ms. Liddell, do let the good doctor know if he returns to his domicile that uh… that Philip Baker attempted to stop by. Perhaps we shall return tomorrow, uh… but in any case, unprofessional of him to miss an appointment. Very unprofessional, indeed. Nonetheless uh, good day to you, miss.”

You helped him steady himself as he began to back down the stairs, having markedly much more trouble getting down backward than going up forward. The whole time you were doing this, you felt the woman staring at you intently as though you were an unexpected farthing found in the gutter. It made you unreasonably uneasy- she was just some woman, maybe a caretaker or a patient or otherwise a ‘wayward youth’. It didn’t help that you were a fairly self-conscious person in general, but being the center of even one person’s attention was more than enough to throw you off kilter.

The cat that had briefly made your acquaintance was still lingering at your feet. Uncle Philip, poor old fellow, was nearly completely down the landing when the feline in question decided that the best exit would be between his moving feet. He yelped and nearly tumbled backwards, aided only by your iron-grip on his sleeve and nearly aided by the woman who had almost closed the door entirely.

Uncle Philip sputtered and clambered back onto his feet whilst trying not to sprawl out, the children behind the both of you laughing cruelly- children were always like that, you supposed, but that didn’t make you resent them any less for it.  _ He’s a kind old man, if a little short-sighted. What if a cat decided to trip you up and lay you flat? _

“Ohgh. Oh, goodness gracious, thank you, (Y/N), dear. Stars and garters,” he muttered, finding his balance and beginning to shuffle back toward the street. 

“(Y/N)?” 

You felt your hands grow clammy and you slowed, a slave to your innate politeness. “Yes, miss.” You managed to reply, hoping that you could finally leave the red-brick home with cruel laughing children and friendly-but-dangerous cats and get to your uncle’s shop in the upper East End.

“I do know you, you know.” She sounded more at wonder with herself than anything else- turning your head allowed you to see that she had one finger pointed at you and a triumphant expression on her face.

“From… where, miss?”

“It  _ was  _ you at the opera house, wasn’t it?”

The cold from your hands suddenly spread throughout your stomach and up your throat and just about everywhere where it was unpleasant for it to be. Ms. Liddell was right- she did know you, and you knew her. 

-

-

-

_ Being behind the stage at an opera house is not as exciting as everyone makes it out to be. _

When you were sent to visit Uncle Philip in London for the first time in years, you had been expecting a bit more quiet of a visit. How busy could a barber shop possibly be on the East End?

As it turns out, the shop had not been what was busy- instead, it was the opera house a few streets over in an even more gated part of the already gated community. 

_ We’re going to the opera, (Y/N)! How exciting indeed- to have my work shown upon the stage, the finest actors and theatrics- _

At the time, you were glad he was happy. You’d prefer merely attending the opera, which was initially what you thought you were doing, but fate would have other plans. No, rather than attending and being part of the audience with all of its stifling perfumes and embroidered kerchiefs, you had the unfortunate task of assisting your uncle whilst also ducking, dodging, bobbing, and weaving from the stage hands, the directors, the actors, and a few stray musicians. 

Why they hadn’t had the sense to trim and style the actor’s hair before the night of the first performance you had absolutely no idea. There were plenty of things you had no idea about, but you were instructed as a child to nod and listen and agree instead of questioning. The older you got, the less sense this advice made, but it more often than not made for getting out of situations rather quickly, so you kept it in mind. This evening, you had no such luck.

You could barely use a push-broom within the space without tripping people, everyone was yelling and you couldn’t tell if it was general yelling or yelling at you, and you had never visited London before in your life.

Needless to say, you were very much not having a good time.

The play itself was some kind of Greek tragedy if any of the props were evident, gorgons and hydras and whatnot strewn about behind the curtains while the thrum of the audience leaked in from outside. At this point in time, you weren’t even sure if you were going to be allowed to watch the performance, but you almost didn’t care- you just didn’t want to be back here. 

Philip, bless his soul, was snipping and oiling away at two different people, muttering to them and shouting to others, seemingly having forgotten you were there. 

When you said you were going for a walk to get out of the way, he’d merely nodded (Was it a nod? Or was he just bobbing around?)- you gladly left the premises and started another seperate course of ducking, dodging, bobbing, weaving, and various other maneuvers to escape the back-stage area.

The noise dissipated, but you were still able to hear people talking the further down a side hallway you went, the smell of old wood and polish surrounding you. It was almost comforting- that is, until you ran full tilt into what you initially thought was a mannequin. The mannequin that was very much not a mannequin gasped, and a stack of books suddenly fell to the floor and jabbed sharply at your feet.

Your innate politeness gladly took over while your innate embarrassment began to rip you to shreds within your own head. “Oh my, gracious- I-I’m so sorry, are you alright?” You reached your hand out- the woman you’d run into was evidently not very pleased.

“I’m on thin ice with the man already, watch where you’re going!” Her tone was low and worried as she brushed her apron off aggressively, stooping to pick up the books.

Embarrassed and not keen on continuing to be yelled at, you attempted to help pick the books up, “I’m so, so sorry, I swear I didn’t mean to, it was just so loud back there. I was going on a walk back here, I didn’t mean to run into you, I’m so sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, if you get any smaller you’ll disappear.” Her words were cold but the expression on her face was more exasperated than mean. 

You sheepishly handed her the few books you’d managed to grab from the floor, your throat dry and your hands shaking- there was an awful lot happening, but at least you were sure she was addressing you and not some fellow four yards across the room. You couldn’t quite see her past the stack of books now, but she peeked around at you with one vividly green eye. 

“I hope none of them are damaged. It can’t come out of my pocket if they are.”

“I-if there’s anything broken, I uh... “ Your words faltered again, having thought she would have left you alone by now. “If there’s any damage, I could… try to put in the damage’s worth.”

The young woman scoffed and turned, beginning to walk past you. “Posh, are you? Figures, if you’re behind the stage at the opera house.”

You glanced back, slightly offended even though she was partially correct, “My uncle is the stagehand barber! I’m not back here wandering among the cobwebs for fun. The people who run the stage are so rude, I’d not want to stay even if I had been.”

“I wouldn’t have worded it so kindly, but yes.” The woman kept walking, but she glanced behind herself curiously, if not still in a bit of a grouchy mood.

You said nothing- you were terrible and telling when conversations were over.

“Your uncle is the stagehand, is he?” Ah, it wasn’t over. 

You wrung your hands and followed, a little less reluctantly than you first thought- you hadn’t spoken to anyone close to your age in quite a while, certainly not since arriving in London. Of course, you didn’t really enjoy being snapped at, but you did knock an entire stack of literature out of her hands.

“Y-yes. He’s a barber… somewhere around here. I’m not certain, we sort of came straight to the opera house and I didn’t get a chance to see it. And if this drags on much longer, I might not get to.”

She scoffed again, less judgement and more acknowledgement. “No wonder I’ve never seen you around here. You don’t look like you’re from London- your eyes aren’t crossed, you aren’t filthy, and you had more than half a mind to apologize.”

You didn’t quite know how to take that, but you gathered it was more positive than negative so you attempted to take it in stride. “I don’t mean to be rude, but what’s your name? J-just in case any of the books are damaged.”   
  
“If any of the books are damaged, wouldn’t I need your name?” She asked dryly, once again looking behind herself and practically freezing you with her gaze.

The words left your mouth and you were shunted back to square one, feeling only slightly less embarrassed. She seemed to take pity on you, at least in the moment.

“My name is Alice.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Alice.” You said.

Her expression turned wry, “Most people who say that don’t mean it at all.”

You cleared your throat and bowed your head, still following behind. Just as you were beginning to respond, a loud, harsh shout emanated from whence you’d come up the hallway. You flinched  _ hard _ , hard enough that Alice turned to face you, as concerned as one could be with a frightened stranger.

“(Y/N)!”

Had that voice come out of Uncle Philip? You’d never heard him sound so deranged in your life. Your eyes were suddenly very wide and your posture was suddenly much worse as you crouched back.

“(Y/N), RETURN THIS INSTANT, I HAVE DIRE NEED OF YOU.”

You brushed past, your arms tucked in and your voice nearly shaking, “Y-yes, sir! Right away, sir!” Halfway down the hallway and nearly through the door you entered to get here, you turned back and waved back, distracted. “If the books are damaged, do let me know. I-It was a pleasure to meet you, Alice.”

Mildly-stunned silence filled the area where you’d been nearly moments before, then was suddenly broken as you poked your head back through one more time before scuttling back to your uncle.

“And I do mean it.”

-

-

-

You swallowed, feeling yourself flush with embarrassment. Uncle Philip was tutting to himself, seemingly ignorant of the conversation at hand- you wished you were so lucky.

“Ah- Alice. O-of course.”

The young woman bore an expression that you couldn’t place- it looked somehow confused, triumphant, and challenging all at the same time. “I caught your name, but you didn’t give it to me before you had to leave.”

“I… ah’m. I really must be going, I’m so terribly sorry, I still feel dreadful about the opera house.”

She blinked, as if she had not been thinking about it at all. “I wasn’t-”

_ Why do I feel like I should run? She’s done nothing wrong- in fact, she’s being remarkably civil. _

You forced yourself to stop in front of her and bowed as politely and quickly as you could before turning to steady Uncle Philip once more. “It was lovely meeting you. Again. And I do mean it, for th-the record. I-I suppose I’ll see you about.” 

Alice remarked after you in such a way that you could hear the wry smile on her face, “A book did get damaged, you know.”

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alice does about as well as expected in small social situations.

_ How much is a book when bought in London? _

The thought sounded nearly like a riddle, something with a silly but fair-enough answer just waiting to be given. You wished it was a riddle as you stared into the small coin-purse in which you kept your money. There wasn’t a lot of it- you didn’t  _ need _ a lot going about your day to day life. It was an easy enough thing to answer if you asked anyone, but the idea of going out around town and traipsing into unfamiliar areas by yourself didn’t appeal to you very much at all. 

You cleared your throat for no reason and cinched the purse shut before tucking it into a small pocket in your dress.

Heading down the stairs was surprisingly difficult. Your uncle’s home was lovely but sparse- despite living here for 30 years, it didn’t look lived in at all. The floors were unscuffed but dull, the carpet old but un-worn by the passing and stepping of many feet, and the curtains were open while still managing to cast gloomy shadows across the rooms. There were cabinets and bookcases, all decently filled with porcelain and books (None of which were useful to you, as you did not know which book needed replacing), and a houseplant that had seen better days. It was a strange place, vacant whilst being occupied.

The stairs were actually attached to the side of a building that led down into a small courtyard attached to two other small shops, though only one was currently inhabited. The courtyard itself was the ‘back way’ to enter the barber shop, as it could only be accessed through the street by a little gated alleyway to which nobody had the key. You glanced around it while passing through but ultimately had nothing of importance to offer or to say on the manner, so you instead went entered the shop quietly- you wanted to say goodbye to Uncle Philip on the way out, even if you would have had to do that anyway once you left.

Dull sunlight seemed to glint off of the polished metal instruments, chair, and even off of the wood-varnish on the floor. It didn’t have tile like a standard shop, but as Philip (and now, you supposed,  _ yourself _ ) were the only people who worked here, it wasn’t really mentioned anything that needed fixing. The downstairs was painted a dull mulberry red, interspersed with mirrors and, toward the exit, the occasional painting. All in all, not an unpleasant place in the least- it looked thrice as lived in as the upstairs. Having someone currently in the barber’s chair definitely helped it with such matters.

“Uncle?” You called softly into the shop as you began to pass through- the man in the chair paid you no mind.

“Yes, yes, one moment.” The voice came from the other side of the room near a small wash basin. He rinsed his hands and was returning to the man in the chair, reaching for the razor at the stand in front of the mirror. 

Watching him work was admittedly hypnotizing- in less than one minute, the man’s face was entirely cleared of shaving foam and he looked as though he scarcely knew it. He did his work with such dexterity that you decided that his eyes could not be nearly as bad as he said they were, or  _ if _ they were, he had incredible muscle memory.

Whilst he wiped the foam away from the razor and the man in turn felt his freshly-shaven face, Uncle Philip turned toward you without looking up from his hands. “Now then, uh… gracious, what’s the time?”

The wall clock indicated it was about three in the afternoon- you wondered whether or not you should leave so close to tea-time, which was something that you didn’t often participate in but something that Philip was very fond of. He seemed to agree with your unspoken thought, as his brow furrowed once realizing the time by reading a pocket-watch you hadn’t known he had.

_ For someone so well-off, he lives someplace like a shamble. Upstairs, at least. Even father was never well off enough to have a pocket watch.  _ Suddenly your stomach twisted, and you stopped your thoughts cold in their tracks.

_ No, none of that. You’ve been here only three days, keep yourself together. _

“Where are you going off to so late in the afternoon, dear?” Philip asked, waving his customer goodbye and reaching for the broom he had propped near the mirror.

You started from your thoughts a little, but responded, “I’ve got to see someone about a book.” 

_ It is a little lonely this far up the street, it will be nice to talk to someone who can form complete sentences. I hope that’s not… what’s the word… untoward? I hope that’s not untoward to Uncle or to Alice.  _

At the very least, you had one separate person you knew in London… if you could count owing her a book and petting her cat as knowing her.

“Yes, yes, but where shall you be?” He glanced up at you from sweeping, perhaps from the first time all morning.

Your words faltered and you said reluctantly, “The Houndsditch Home. The girl we spoke with at the door-”

“Ah! Yes! The Houndsditch Home- we still haven’t heard from the good Doctor. Quite unprofessional, three days in waiting. I haven’t seen him since we’ve arrived back in London,” he said. “Do inquire of his whereabouts. But don’t be too long about it- be back by four o’clock.”

Thumbs twiddling anxiously, you nodded and walked dejected from the shop and out onto the street.

_ I don’t need an assessment. Why on earth does he think I need one? Am I that horrible? _

You held your hands close to your body and walked with your eyes down, feeling very open and exposed. The past three days of your arrival had mostly been spent attempting to get your bearings at the side of your uncle rather than by yourself- Uncle Philip, bless him, did not have many places to go, and therefore there were not many places you had been. There had been a brief excursion to the market, which was full of people and terrible smells and roads that were blocked from entry. There was also a visit paid to the opera house again, much to your chagrin, though this time you didn’t see Alice there. The least stressful visit had been a short walk to and through Hyde Park, which you thought was fine enough.

You learned (And felt rather foolish in doing so) that you didn’t live in the East End at all- you had been severely misinformed on the location of the barber shop and the home thereabove, and had to account for that when finding your way around the second time when looking at a map. It should have been painfully obvious to you- the barber shop’s clientele was entirely too well-off to live in such a place, especially not one as decidedly slum-like as the East End. The train station was there, so you could at least say you’d visited the place, but the barber sharp instead laid across the Thames River and tucked away just far enough from the main street that you could find it with ease. The streets were cleaner, it was less noisy, and it smelled less of decaying flesh- you were glad for the clarification on precisely where you stood in London.

Trouble was, even if you memorized the locations in this city, the people moved around. And just your luck, there were plenty of people you wished to avoid whilst moving through the streets by yourself. Some were rude women, some were rude children, but mostly, they were rude men. You were lucky to live far enough from the dock that you didn’t have to worry about sailors, which by far was what you were most afraid of.

The street seemed to be blessedly clear this afternoon, allowing you to walk to the other side of London with less worry than usual… though only marginally. Regardless of the amount and type of people on the street, the further you travelled, the more dingy it became.

_ I wonder why the market is so far this way- I suppose people who live in the other half of London have to buy food as well. They mostly sell meat there… it smells absolutely dreadful. _

The walk home from Houndsditch a few days prior had not seemed so long- you didn’t even remember crossing the river. You felt as though your feet were dragging and heavy despite your normal pace, and your stomach still felt as though it were writhing and twisting itself apart.

_ Perhaps I am mad- I’ve got no reason to be this fearful. The children at the house were rude, but most children are. And Alice was being quite civil despite the initial meeting… even if it felt like her eyes were boring holes through me the entire time. _

You saw that the further you strayed from what you supposed would be West End, the fewer people there were. There was noise coming from the market that you could hear from here, but there were not a lot of casual strollers or even playing children. You peered across the bridge that you would cross to reach the East End, and almost tricked yourself into thinking you could see the Houndsditch Home from here. You sighed, and walked on.

_ I really hope he isn’t in. _

-

-

-

Wonderland was finally beginning to recede for now. It felt like her head was filled with damp cotton, or a thunderstorm had just passed straight in one ear and out the other without stopping- Alice flexed her fingers and gathered the fabric on her apron before letting it slacken.

She was sitting down (She thought she was, anyway) in front of a window, or perhaps she was outside in a courtyard- she would deal with the outcome, either way. She was prone to waking up in places she had certainly not been in her last moments of consciousness. 

All she could do for now was blink the heaviness from her eyes as she came to and figure out where she was. She could still smell it- the lush vegetation and clear water of the Vale hovering and attempting to grow over the stink of oil and burning. The latter was from the hellish Infernal Train, she figured, but it could have easily passed as London slithering its way into her mind against her will. 

_ In any case, Wonderland has just begun healing. I suppose I’m going to be able to smell that wretched stench beneath everything for a while. _

Alice took a deep breath and tried to let out out slowly, her breath catching in her throat and wincing,  _ I’d better not be getting sick- anything stronger than a headcold will be the end of me.  _

It seemed that she was actually still in her room in the home. She was right, she’d been sitting in a chair in the cloudy beams of sunlight coming through the window as if she were a cat. Glancing at the window and tried to peer through the grimy glass, she for the thin white cat that seemed to be dipping in and out of her life as of late.

Admittedly, she had not been expecting the cat to be real. Another excuse to start wandering into dark places so that she could return to Wonderland had been entirely more likely, but it actually being a flesh-and-blood cat was not her prediction at all. She’d seen it around in various places, usually sunning itself or digging through trash around the market, but those were more easily dismissed as her mind playing more tricks on her. The young woman arriving with the barber who actually petted the cat, asked its name, and whose uncle nearly tripped over it… that made things more difficult to waive away as anything other than real.

There was no cat on the windowsill, and looking out of the window yielded no further information on its whereabouts. Alice stood up much too quickly, got dizzy and momentarily lost vision, and sat back down again. It was normally like that if she’d been sitting or lying down- it came with the territory of not having more than one meal every day, she supposed.

_ If I don’t manage to wake up more fully today, I shall scream. If I have the energy, anyway. _

Even her thoughts seemed half-formed and stupid, and she hated them as they rose in her head. Alice stood up again, more gently, and walked out of her room and into the dingy halls where the wallpaper had started peeling rather badly. One glance around the hallway yielded surprisingly few children, and a cold prickling seemed to form at the base of her skull. She tried to quell the feeling and think for a moment- it was sometime in the afternoon, they were probably just out in the alleyways nearby playing hopscotch and hitting each other with sticks.

She decided she’d poke her head in to see whenever she started her ‘daily route’, as Nan referred to it. As someone with very little money and a job that contributed very little to that, Alice had nothing to do but trot around London most of the time. She didn’t particularly think it was the most  _ safe _ activity, but her bets were hedged for today… she hoped. She didn’t know entirely what she did whenever Wonderland decided to crop up, and she didn’t exactly have anyone trustworthy to ask. Mostly, she figured from various previous reports that Dr. Wilson had not realized she had been listening in on, she went into a state of catatonia- how she still traipsed around London while in such a state she didn’t know. Sometimes she stayed in one place, which she would prefer over accidentally falling into the Thames River… again.

Wonderland was coming and going less frequently already, wispy and half-existent even if it came from within her own head- it had only been three days. Three whole days since Wonderland was freed, and three whole days since he’d gotten what he deserved. Time began passing so slowly since then, and she didn’t know whether she wished it would pass faster or stay the same pace; time was such a fickle thing to abide by already, but her perception of it being warped made it worse than it was by default.

Alice brushed past the sheets that hung for no particular reason in the hallway and into the smoggy sunlight of the world outside,  _ Strangely quiet today. _

Before she even passed the front gate, she almost collided with another person who hadn’t been looking where they were going. They yelped and dove to the side once they realized that they’d almost run into her and lost their balance, falling sideways into the dirt.

_ Oh, it’s her. _

The barber’s niece sat dazed for a moment on the ground, blinking the dust from her eyes. As she brought up her hand to wipe at her face, she looked up at Alice and immediately looked back down and started looking more pale.

_ She’s so timid- if she keeps this up, she’s going to be swallowed whole. _

It took a few more seconds than she would have liked to begin speaking, the wish to do so simply not registering to her completely. When she did, her voice sounded weaker than expected, “You’ve really got to watch where you’re going- one day, I’ll be carrying something important.”

She mumbled to herself, still not looking up, “I don’t um… if it’s any consolation, I don’t enjoy this any more than you do.”

Alice snorted quietly and offered the other girl her hand- she took it with no small amount of trembling and found her feet.

(Y/N) dusted herself off as well as she was able, patting at one of the pockets to make sure the contents were still there. Once she was satisfied, she cleared her throat and tried look Alice in the face.

  
“I um… I came by to inquire about the book.”

“It’s been three days, you know.”

(Y/N) wilted a little bit but responded firmly, “I don’t know my way around, I was trying to find my bearings.”

Alice continued on her way, “Finding your bearings in London is like finding a fly in your soup- once you do, you’ll wish you hadn’t.”

She looked over her shoulder, expressionless and almost curt, “I was going on a walk. You’re welcome to join me so we can talk- I’m tired of being inside.”

“Oh, alright. That sounds nice.” (Y/N) began to fall in step beside her quietly, managing to keep pace despite her brisk strides. It seemed that half the street was already covered at the speed she had set for themselves, but her newly-acquired companion didn’t object.

Alice stole a glance over,  _ She’s either so timid that she’s afraid to speak, or she’s daydreaming so that she doesn’t have to. Given what I know of her, it’s likely to be both. _

“So, Alice,” (Y/N) began, her voice quiet, “About the book that was damaged, what was it? How much does a book cost here?”

The sound of her voice surprised her, and Alice responded in kind, “Depends on the book.”

“.... I figured that,” she mumbled, half-distracted.

It was strange indeed, the streets all being empty. Usually the area in front of the home had a few straggling children, or otherwise the rest of the street a few people chatting or workers complaining. The area was so utterly unoccupied that Alice wondered if there was a holiday she’d forgotten to account for. In the distance there was some clatter or commotion, but there was always someone complaining about something or other in the city. 

“Is something wrong?”

Alice blinked and her walk slowed for a moment as she looked around, “Not that I know of. It’s just... Quiet, today. Usually one can’t hear themselves think.”

“I prefer the quiet, personally.”

_ Normally I’d agree, but silence in London is only good for the crows. _

They passed an alleyway, and Alice poked her head inside- nothing to be found other than abandoned hopscotch drawings and decaying wooden boxes. She frowned to herself and resumed walking, leaving her companion to catch up, confused.

_ Where on earth is everyone? I’m here, I’m in London right now, I’m not mistaking them being gone. She commented on it as well, it’s not just me. _

“Did you see anyone, coming up the street?” Alice asked, still glancing around like a at chasing a fly.

“A few people up towards the shop,” (Y/N) gestured away. “It’s not been very busy since I’ve come, though, so I have no idea what it’s normally like.”

Alice was dumbfounded- even the man who played the violin on the street corner was absent, and he existed practically nowhere else. As she was looking around much in the same way a squirrel did, her companion began to fidget nervously. She paid it little mind other than noting it herself.

Her companion cleared her throat and gently tapped her shoulder, prompting it to twitch away of its own accord, “Uh, miss-”

“That’s not my name.” Alice said, more coldly than intended- she did not enjoy being touched without permission.

“Y-yes, Alice, uh… do you have a pocket-watch or-”

As if appearing from nowhere, three children lashed around the corner and dashed past the pair, yelling and talking excitedly amongst themselves in high-pitched, grating voices. Alice turned briskly and shouted after them, finding herself at least somewhat relieved.

“Where are you going? Ollie!”

One of the children in question, a boy in a too-large coat with a too-large hat, skidded briefly to a halt and pointed down the street from whence they’d walked, “Out past there! Tilly said she’s found some animal bones!”

Both Alice and (Y/N) grimaced at the thought, but the former waved away the child, who gladly took his leave. “Stay away from the dock!” she called after them firmly, then muttered more to herself, “Loathsome activity, fiddling with dead creatures. I’ve never seen someone so excited to encounter detritus.”

“What about a taxidermist?”

“Never had the displeasure.” Alice mumbled under her breath, but she was admittedly less worried.

In the past, the inhabitants of Houndsditch Home had not been the kindest to her in the least- they were rude little things, most of them, sneering and grabbing and being mean to strangers without much call for it. A few of them were less so and accepted her presence in the building, even if she heard the judgmental whispers and hisses when they thought she’d rounded the corner. She found herself wondering to herself and simmering with rage whether or not the hypnotherapy truly worked- it hadn’t worked on her, not completely. If it hadn’t, she more than understood their animosity, their willingness to travel in packs, and stay hidden in alleyways. 

“Alice?”

Alice broke from her train of thought and her head snapped toward the voice- (Y/N) looked very concerned, her eyes wide and one hand nearly held out as if to touch her again. Alice leaned cooly away, and her hand returned to its resting position against her side.

“Alice, are you alright? You looked… to be honest, you looked livid.” (Y/N) said, her voice quiet and questioning.

Alice furrowed her brow and nodded briskly, holding her fingers to the bridge of her nose for a moment. “Yes, yes, I’m fine,” then she added, as hastily as she’d come up with it, “Those children will be the death of me.”

(Y/N) nodded, more out of politeness than personal understanding, “If they’re playing with animal bones, that’s a fair enough complaint.”

_ She asks a lot of small questions. I suppose I do the same when I don’t know people… even if they’re within my own mind. _

They started to walk again at a more manageable pace. They were coming close to the end of the street soon, the dull glimmer of the river Thames beginning to shine in her eyes despite its distance away. Alice was about to turn along her usual route and begin walking toward the marketplace when her companion cleared her throat.

“My um, my uncle said I’d have to be back before four o’clock, and to walk from the shop to East End takes about thirty minutes… and we spoke for a few.” She looked at Alice expectantly, her head tilted toward the bridge. 

Alice sniffed in return, “Suppose you’re coming by another day, then?”

(Y/N)’s expression turned to one of mild confusion, “No? I was going to ask you to accompany back- the only reason he wants me to return by four is tea time. I don’t think he’d mind the extra company if you’ve made his acquaintance before… and you have. I figured we could talk more there, or… otherwise afterward.”

Alice’s suspicions rose quickly, but she tried to keep her face as blank as possible and spoke in a half-jovial tone to account for it, “Why on earth would you invite me over for tea? We’ve only met on tuesday.”

(Y/N) straightened her head and looked Alice in the face for as long as she was able before her line of sight fell across the river again, “Technically, we met three months ago. I’m quite convinced I’ve made a… a horrible impression. Considering you’ve um… you’ve been practically the only person that hasn’t tried to bite my head off I wanted to… to extend the invitation.”

As much as Alice would have liked to have said she could sense deceit from a mile away, the answer was so blunt and honest-sounding that she could detect none. 

_ Sad that common niceties are so scarce here. I’m not entirely sure she’s completely trustworthy… but I think she’s being truthful. _

Alice pondered for a moment before nodding, “Alright. I’ll come for tea. We’ve still got matters to discuss, anyway.”

The barber’s niece looked pleased, but though she smiled her, eyes trailed away. “Ah, w-wonderful! This way then,” She seemed to realize her own expression’s betrayal of her emotions, because she put on a more neutrally-happy face and pointed across the river, taking a few strides.

Alice had never met such a puzzling stranger since being in London- not necessarily  _ bad _ , but she was certainly odd.  _ Peculiar, indeed. I do wonder if nervousness runs in her family. _

“Uh, Alice?”

“Yes?”

“We’ve got about ten minutes to cross the bridge and get back to the shop, we might want to start jogging.”

-

-

-

Overall, Alice had been in worse parlors.

The one in her old home had been nicer, but admittedly, her home had been more of a  _ home  _ and less of an  _ apartment _ , and she was in no place to complain anyway. Afternoon tea was not often something indulged in being in the financial bracket she was- she could count on one hand the amount of times she’d had it since living in the Houndsditch Home. 

It seemed rude to simply stare into the cup, but it was almost like she couldn’t bring herself to drink it. It felt like a  _ trap _ , almost- tea with a stranger in the nicer part of London seemed fishy indeed.

_ Come, now- she’s no stranger at this point. But… still, I can’t disregard my nervousness when it’s not misguided me thus far. _

(Y/N) was holding her cup in her lap as they all sat in the parlor of the home above the barber shop. There was a heavy brass ticking of some clock she couldn’t locate filling the silence of the room, along with the occasional clink of porcelain and the clearing of Mr. Baker’s throat. It smelled of dust, books, and old floor polish, broken by the fresher, more immediate scent of the tea.

Mr. Baker sniffed to himself, squinting down his nose through his glasses into the empty cup in his hands.

Alice looked between the both of them, shoulders tense- they become doubly so when her stomach audibly growled. (Y/N) made no remark, but nodded her head softly toward a small plate of biscuits that were most certainly store-bought (Or perhaps baker bought? They came pre-prepared either way.).

“What’s the matter?” (Y/N) whispered.

_ That would be a very long answer for a very short question,  _ Alice thought, the words dull and listless even in her head.

“How uh…” Mr. Baker spoke up, plucking perhaps his third biscuit from the plate- thus far he’d been the only one of the three to partake, “How have you made this… young lady’s acquaintance, dear?”

His tone indicated no ill will, but Alice knew better than to discard the possibility. 

(Y/N) set her cup and saucer on the table and spoke with something that was almost defiance, “I met her at the Royal Opera House. That performance you-”

“YES! Yes, yes, of course, the tale of Perseus, the grandeur of Theogony- I don’t remember you amongst the cast.” Mr. Baker was peering at Alice directly now.

“I wasn’t part of the cast. I tend to the documents and books in the back.” Alice responded, and glanced at (Y/N) from the corner of her eye, “Your niece acquainted herself by walking into me whilst I carried a stack of volumes.”

“I didn’t mean to!” 

Mr. Baker chortled, “Runs in the family, clumsiness does. Unfortunately, it doesn’t skip generations.”

“Goodness sake, air out all of my dirty laundry, why don’t you?” (Y/N) muttered, slumped back in her chair.

“Come now,” Mr. Baker waved his hand dismissively, standing up and wincing as his back straightened, “No reason to hide it, you’ll go falling down the stairs outside sooner or later.”

_ I should be enjoying myself. The first afternoon tea I’ve had in over a year. Why do I feel as though there’s a viper under the table just waiting to strike? …. Nevermind, I know perfectly well why I feel that way.  _

The host collected his cup and saucer to take toward perhaps the smallest kitchen that Alice had seen outside of Wonderland, humming to himself a song without a tune. She finally took a sip of her tea, taking such a small amount that she might have taken it for poison.

(Y/N) leaned against the table on her elbows, eyes closed and looking rather tired, “I didn’t expect this to be so…”

“Awkward?”

“Yes-”

“Unrefined? Floundering? Positively amateurish?” Alice couldn’t help but grin deviously before drinking again.

(Y/N) scoffed, giving Alice the weakest glare she had ever seen. “I thought you were nice- it would be very rude to prove me wrong.”

“Glad to know the talk of the town hasn’t ruined your opinion of me before it could be formulated.”

“What do you-”

“Ah, yes, Ms. Liddell? I had something to impart upon you, before you take your leave.” Mr. Baker materialized from the kitchen with a paper in his hand and a catch in his throat. “A letter of displeasure to impart upon the doctor- I dare not preface his name with goodness until he corresponds.”

Alice tensed so suddenly that the cup and saucer in her hands chattered, though by now it was mostly empty. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but ended up on focusing most of her energy into looking like the most listless girl to walk the face of the earth.

“I’ll deliver the message, though I won’t be able to tell you when you’ll receive anything back. I’ve not seen him in days.”

Mr. Baker sniffed, frowned, then set the letter upon the table, “Very well, very well then. Uh, (Y/N), dear, whenever you’ve finished conversing with your friend, I’ve need of you in the shop below. The old knees don’t bend quite like they used to, I’ve hardly been able to sweep today.”

“Yes, sir.”

He bowed his head and departed from the apartment, leaving the two of them to fill the silence themselves. (Y/N) looked at her curiously, and finally plucked up a biscuit from the little plate now that they were a duo rather than a trio.

Alice stared at the letter sitting on the table. She’d nearly forgotten- this was her… her  _ replacement _ . A perfectly malleable, submissive, ill mind ripe for the type of manipulation she had endured, and this girl certainly would not have fared even half as well as Alice. She had an uncle, someone who should have been able to help, instead pushing her directly into the beast’s horrible jaws. She knew he didn’t know any better (The doctor had certainly done well in covering up his bloody tracks), but it didn’t make the resentment within her simmer any less.

(Y/N) tapped lightly on the tablecloth with one finger. “Have I upset you?”

It sounded to genuine to be at all sarcastic. Alice untensed her jaw as much as she was able, still feeling the nasty prickling in her scalp that came with thinking too hard, “You haven’t. I was thinking. I often don’t have people to talk to, and on a good day, thinking out loud gets you tossed in gaol.”

She sat up straighter, concerned, “What?”

“Hm.” Alice finally got up the nerve to nab a biscuit, almost feeling put-off for doing so- she knew stuck out like a sore thumb here, tattered clothes and sunken eyes and stomach betraying how hungry she was. She didn’t belong in this neighborhood with the judgemental, ritzy people with tailored-suits and fourteen different monocles.

She didn’t make these observations in self pity, but instead she made them in mild infuriation- mild infuriation that was evidently showing quite blatantly on her face, as she felt herself fighting a horrible scowl. She  _ used _ to belong here in places like this way back when, but now with barely a shilling accessible to her pockets and with an unshakable and corrupting label stapled to her name, she most certainly did not belong here.

_ Then again, belonging was never your strong suit, anyway. Don’t fuss so much, you’re probably scaring the daylights out of her. _

One quick look over told Alice that, yes, she was indeed scaring or otherwise mildly-worrying her host. Before she could attempt to lessen any negative emotion, (Y/N) spoke up again in a cautious voice.

“I don’t mean to be rude but… um, you said something about… the town ruining my opinion of you?” (Y/N) rested her cheek on her hand, and eyes nervously flicking around the room and only meeting Alice’s on occasion, “Might I ask what that means?”

Alice tilted her head and didn’t look at her as much as she considered her, “Have you formulated an opinion of me?”

“I suppose I have.”

She narrowed her eyes, chewing thoughtfully, “What would that be?”

(Y/N) looked away, “Bit of a personal question,” she thought for a moment and seemed to get more stressed with each passing second.

Alice waited patiently, her nerves still sending uncomfortable prickles throughout her limbs and prompting her to move- she bounced her leg to compensate.

“I… think you’re nice. A bit… um… a bit odd, maybe, but friendly. Perhaps a little scary- i-in that you’re very purposeful to your words, but I’m… I’m scared of quite a lot, and you’re still the friendliest face I’ve met here. It’s nice to have someone to talk to,” (Y/N) had resumed tapping on the table and mumbled a bit lower, “I’m glad you’ve not decided to disregard me completely after the way we met. I hope that’s not selfish.”

_ Don’t bear your heartstrings so, you barely know me- she’s entirely too honest. This city might eat her alive. _

“I don’t know whether it could be considered selfish or not, but that was a lovely soliloquy.” Alice said with a mildly-sarcastic lilt to her voice, still picking at each word individually in her head.

(Y/N) did not look pleased with the response, becoming tucked into herself in the chair and appearing very self-conscious. Alice wondered for a moment if the response had been cruel- she’d asked for a candid opinion, after all. Perhaps not cruel to most, but it could be cruel to this withdrawn young woman who’d been brave enough to invite the Fire Girl of all people to tea.

“Come now,” She began, clasping her hands in her lap, “you’re not awful company, don’t be so glum. It’s a nice change of pace to have someone to talk to as well, even if you’re rather… quiet.”

Even coming out of her mouth, it sounded like a thinly-veiled insult. She attempted to brush past it, “What I mean to say is, if that is truly your opinion of me, thank you for your honesty. As for the people about town attempting to sully my reputation?”

_ How best to put this? I don’t usually have to tell people, everyone here already knew. Perhaps I should simply- _

“I’m mad. I’m better than I was, but I’m still mad.”

(Y/N)’s expression morphed into one of exasperated confusion, “What? You don’t seem mad.”

“You haven’t been rude to me.” Alice scoffed, her arms crossed tightly over her chest and wondering if laying her cards on the table had been a mistake. She didn’t know why it mattered too badly- she’d lose an acquaintance, but at least she could say she’d been to the uppers across the river.

The young woman aside her wasn’t speaking, but in fact seemed to be thinking. She did not, however, look anymore put-off, and Alice supposed that was what mattered.

“Best you hear it from me instead of some ruffian on a street corner and get the daylights scared out of you. I’ve earned the right to call myself as such- they can make no such claims.”

(Y/N) finally returned Alice’s defiant gaze, hers in turn very tired, “That’s … that’s fine. You’ve been kind to me, in this city, that’s all I ask.”

_ ‘That’s fine’. What an odd response. She doesn’t sound entirely as though she believes me, either.  _

**_Alice, dear, making friends, are we? Don’t stay out too late, you hardly know each other well enough to take the guest room._ **

She stiffened again- the cat was nowhere to be seen, his voice seeming to come from everywhere at once. 

_ Begone, cat. I’ve nothing for you right now. _

A deep, judgmental chuckle reverberated through her skull and left without so much as another word. Alice cleared her throat and stood up rather abruptly, nearly up-ending the table in doing so. Her companion looked worried again, following Alice’s gaze, which seemed suddenly glued to the wall clock. It was nearly five, and the sunset outside was dyeing the walls a moggy yellow.

She pointed at the face and “(Y/N), I really must be going, I’ve got the children at the home to attend to.”

“O-oh… alright, that’s… I suppose I should see you around?” (Y/N) stood out of instinctual reaction, still leaning against the table.

“I’m not going anywhere, if that’s what you’re implying.”

**_Not going anywhere if you’ve got anything to say about it. The constable, however-_ **

“I really must be leaving, but it was lovely chatting with you.” Prickles and unease were beginning to throb like a bad headache in her brain as she moved towards the door. “I shall see you soon- perhaps earlier in the day.”

“That’s well and good but-”

“Good-goodbye, (Y/N), I’m terribly sorry, but I must leave. Until tomorrow.”

“The boo-”

The door shut behind her and she hurried down the creaky wooden stairs, eyes shooting across the ground and wondering where in the world the cat would appear, should he appear at all. 

_ I feel terrible leaving so suddenly- I hope she’s not too put-off. I can’t discern whether the sense of impending doom was just anxiousness for being suddenly social or something else. _

Alice’s sense of impending doom was nearly as sharp as Alice herself. The way home was rushed, just like the way too, and even though she took only one street, it seemed to stretch on forever until she was able to see the Houndsditch home… and very nearby, the small crowd of chattering people that had gathered nearby at the now blocked-off entryway to the railway station.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh goodness, here's a long chapter for ya!
> 
> This was an interesting exercise in trying to figure out Alice's inner monologue as well as how she'd react to people when they weren't incredibly rude and animalistic. Also some mentions of like... class inequality and how she's attempting to deal with that- this won't be a savior story, I promise, reader is just... incredibly... what's the word... spacey? The repercussions of bringing Alice into her home were not thought of in the least and practically nobody in the situation is at ease is what I'm getting at, haha!
> 
> I'm trying very hard to ride the muse for this as long as I can and also am attempting to pace it out in a faster manner than like... a Stephen King book. As much as I'd like for this to go on endlessly, I do have some idea on an ending that I can reach. I only hope that the few reading this are patient enough to bear with me ;;
> 
> I very much appreciate the support, as this is a labor of love made harder by RSD that I cannot shake
> 
> Cheers!  
> -Bea


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You meet up with Alice on a boring day. Ho-hum.

**_Alice, girl, step to attention._ **

The shuffling and chatter of the crowd surrounding the train station platform was suddenly deafening. Though the voice of the cat came from within her own mind, it seemed as though she could hardly hear him. The officer standing just inside the brick archway towered over most of the hunched populace as he shouted and swacked at people who got too close with a well-battered knight-stick. 

She felt lightheaded, dread bubbling up from her stomach- she’d expected  _ something _ to be found, but she’d also expected that she’d have a plan by then. 

_ Perhaps that’s not quite what this is. A new railway is bound to have problems sooner or later… hopefully in this case sooner. _

A flicker of gray slunk from the corner of her eye, and she snapped her head in its direction,  **_False-ignorance is never a flattering option on anyone who wears it. You knew better, girl, and it’s rude to pretend otherwise._ **

_ Brave today, aren’t you, sticking your nose in places it doesn’t belong. Be careful, you may just lose your head again. _

By all accounts, the Cheshire cat  _ was _ being bold today- a mishmash of London and Wonderland, more of the latter than the former, were usually the only places he was comfortable enough showing himself. 

Alice started badly when a large man, also a police officer, shouldered past her with his own billy club raised. “Alright then, move along! Nothing to see here that ya won’t see in the papers tomorrow. Get on, we got work ta do-”

A dull throbbing had begun abiding in the top of her head and she was able to feel her heartbeat hammering in her ears. Her throat caught as she tried to swallow, but found herself unable as she watched the crowd disperse in bits and pieces. 

“What’s wrong now, yer standin’ in the middle of the street.” 

She started again, turning on her heels with her hands clamped into fists- closer to the Home, a couple of children were watching her curiously and with no shortage of judgement. The one who’d sneered was a young lad going by the name of Timothy, one of the leaders of the smattering of pickpocket gangs that seemed to form within the walls of the orphanage.

Alice stiffly walked back toward the home and almost seemed as though she was going to breeze past them completely when she said, “What’s the fuss? They weren’t here when I left for-”

_ Best not to mention crossing the bridge for tea-time in a rich neighborhood- even if rumours didn’t begin flying, henpecking would surely begin, and I’m at the end of the end of my rope. _

“-left with that young lady.”

“Oh what, that nit?” A girl child with a dirty face and crooked bonnet sniffed- Alice could not recall her name. 

“Hush, she’s perfectly nice,” Alice narrowed her eyes sharply, then pointed at one of the other children, “You, first boy- the crowd by the train station. Why are they there?”

“Ya haven’t smelled that awful stink runnin’ up the tunnel?”

Her stomach twisted nervously, but the only indication of a shown emotion was a single twitch of her left eyebrow. “I thought it was the smoke from that terrible thing.”

Timothy wrinkled his nose at her mockingly, “Found summat chopped inta bits down there- some poor basta-”   
  
“Watch your language.”

“Poor  _ fella _ , some poor fella found some nasty bits ‘n pieces all jammed inta the front of the train at some station downna way. Guess they thought it was a deer or a sheep when they cleaned it off, but uh-”

Timothy beckoned for her to lean over and the two other children leaned in, goblin-grins on their faces- Alice obliged though she already knew some amount what they would say. He grinned gruesomely and whispered, “They think it was a fella- they found part of a waistcoat in the tunnel half an hour ago, prolly searchin’ for more. Railroad’s been tem-per-airily stopped.”

The sound of someone tutting could be heard slightly to her left, prompting her gaze to snap over. She saw absolutely nothing, but the tutting switched sides- she turned again. The children were eyeing her with gross anticipation, their eyes shining and their backs still hunched over, as if they were waiting for something to jump out at them so that they could run.

“I’ve got to go.” Alice didn’t comply and instead spoke softly and swiftly. She headed into the open doorway through the filtering dust and into the vaguely-comforting shadows of the house, “I think I’m going to be sick.”

She left the children to snicker and mutter amongst themselves and walked into her room. It seemed so dangerous and hollow here, though she’d been there only two hours before. She managed to catch the barest glimpse of herself in the glass of the window- she had a bruise speckling her left cheek. The evidence of her unfortunate encounter with the horrid pimp down at the dock had since begun to fade, though it was still noticeable, if mostly hidden by her hair. The splintering floorboards and the light smell of mildew that could have been coming from any given direction were standard for the room, as was everything else currently in view- in fact, it was all quite ordinary. But the feeling, the energy had changed- it felt colder, almost  _ slimier _ .

“Keep yourself together. You always give good advice, and it’s about time you followed it for once.” Alice muttered to herself firmly, her hands closed into fists. How many headaches had she had today? She’d lost count.

The familiar silky voice of her feline nuisance cropped up again, but she still could not see him within the room. She could practically see him anyway, sprawled in a patch of sunlight or across her bedsheets and stretching luxuriously with his fetid grin spread across his face.

**_I told you we couldn’t stay, Alice. I’d like to think you’re a smart girl, but ignoring my advice would suggest otherwise._ **

“Typical.” She hissed to nobody in particular, pacing across the floor, “If you’ve no advice, leave me be. I thought I’d have more time.”

**_A corpse begins its decay roughly twenty-four hours after its death… and I’d imagine that would be if it weren’t dashed to pieces against a train._ **

Grayness seemed to creep across the room on her right- when she looked, she saw nothing. “Are you here, or aren’t you? Make up your mind!” She said, a little louder than intended.

**My** **_mind? Aren’t you a funny girl. Perhaps you might make up yours sometime soon._ **

“She’s talkin’ to herself again.” The voices in the hallway were jeering, as they always were. Alice hazily looked back at the doorway to see two faces peering around their own from the end of the hall. Once they found that they’d been spotted, they snapped back out of sight, but the scoffs and giggles returned.

_ Thankless work it must be, having children. Though I suppose it would help if there were less than fifteen of them. _

Her heart was beating fast and practically rattling every bone in her ribcage. What could she do? There were several options, none of them pleasant. With not a shilling to her name, leaving London was hardly an option- not if she wanted to survive, anyway. She could freeze to death out on a street corner in Billingsgate and get rid of quite a lot of her problems rather quickly, but after putting up such a fight to unlock the terrible memories she found herself saddled with, it seemed more an insult than an option. Nan would be of little help, bless her- even if the Mermaid hadn’t been burned to dust and scattered to the wind, she was hardly one to consider working street-corners after all she’d been through.

_ What has become of Pris, I wonder? _ She thought to herself, stopped in the middle of her room and looking past the window vacantly,  _ Not as though she’d be of much help anyway. _

The sound of the children throughout the house nattering away was almost white noise at this point, along with the comings and goings of various maids that came and went throughout the day. She could faintly hear the metallic clack of metal and cookware, presumably from one of them finally needing to prepare dinner or some bare equivalent of it. Alice searched around outside her window once more for her white cat, and found nothing there. Her hand slipped into the front right pocket on her tattered apron; she wrapped her hand around the cold metal of Lizzie’s key. She hadn’t let it out of her sight.

_ I can’t very well leave them either, can I? Even if they’re absolutely abhorrent little creatures. I’ll figure out something- I always do. It just so happens that this time, I have to. _

-

**_LONDON DAILY POST_ **

**_  
_ ** **_GRISLY REMAINS FOUND IN EAST END RAILWAY_ **

**_FOUL PLAY suspected at the newly-constructed train-station at the East End railway. One torn piece of gentleman’s waistcoat was found jammed wedged into the track on Sunday by a railway attendant. Passengers and attendants alike complained of a foul smell emanating from within the train’s tunnel earlier this week, previously thought to be the smoke from the train’s engine. Investigations are currently underway, and the train shall resume its schedule shortly._ **

-

  
  
  


Time was always fickle and seemed to blur together for you with the only indication of the passing of the year in the people around you and the snow that fell around the city. You barely knew what time of the year it was- it’s not as though it mattered here, anyway. Everything seemed so homogenous in the grimy brickwork and terrible smoke that you didn’t think a think coat of snow would change much about the city anyway… except, perhaps, creating more of a slurry. The weather seemed the same, the food seemed the same, the conversations seemed the same- even most of the people, you found, were mostly the same brand of arrogant, rude, and altogether unfriendly. You were good at keeping your head down and remaining inconspicuous on your own, following Philip around and saying nothing but ‘yes sir’, ‘no sir’, and other similar mannerisms to pass the time and lessen the amount of judgmental eyes that always found their way back to you. It made things slightly more bearable, if only just so.

There were so many things to dislike about London that you could scarcely count them all- at times, you even considered a memorandum, but were afraid you’d lose it somewhere along with any of your other given belongings due to the pickpockets (Or, more likely, to your own forgetfulness). You’d hoped that London would prove you wrong, but with each passing day, it only proved you more right and chastised you for thinking that it would do otherwise. The stench was unbearable on the eastern side of the city, noxious smoke and rotting meat and more sewage than you cared to think about.

You’d not encountered such vicious children in all of your life, either. At the market were quite a few of them hung about, making to huddle as if to talk about you behind your back all whilst speaking at a normal volume and practically daring you to look them in the eye as if you were doing them a disservice by having better things to do than gossip about people you didn’t know.

_ Oi, whossat? _

_ Barber’s niece, the daft old thing. Not been here long if she still cowers so much- summat went awry in Oxford, shipped her out here. _

_ Oxford? Pah. No wonder she’s taken to the Liddel girl like a moth. _

_ Birds of a feather. _

‘The Liddel girl’- rarely did you hear people actually call her ‘Alice’. It made you wonder what exactly your newfound friend’s reputation was about the city. The name was spoken with such disdain, usually by children and more occasionally by merchants or passersby who had seen the two of you walking together. She had told you she was mad, of course, but you found it a little hard to believe. 

_ Being distracted and having hard opinions on things doesn’t make you mad. If that were true, half the town would be behind bars. _

It didn’t particularly bother you as much as it made you terribly curious- it was, however, impolite to ask about such things, and you practically dreaded being impolite as a rule of thumb. You figured that if it were common knowledge like everyone around London treated it as, that you’d find out soon enough, and if you didn’t, then you’d not ask anyway. You wouldn’t very well enjoy people asking about your apparently-horrible personal-life-gone-past, you figured you’d spare both of you the embarrassment.

“(Y/N)?”

You blinked and nodded, clearing your throat in as polite a manner as possible.

The gentleman in the barber’s chair now had come in to get his hair trimmed and styled for some event or other; he’d been preening and mumbling about it to himself the entire visit, giving Philip the vaguest directions and repeatedly repositioning himself to look into the mirror as though he’d never seen one before. Philip was tolerating it rather well, likely because he spent the whole time staring down his nose through his glasses and humming to himself, reading the labels on the different tonics while the man attempted to get settled.

Uncle Philip snapped his fingers and gestured in what you figured was the direction of the broom, but said nothing. You looked at him, bewildered, but he paid it no mind, instead actually attempting to begin trimming the fellow’s hair.

Better safe than sorry, you dejectedly grabbed at the push-broom and leaned against it, positively bored out of your skull.  _ Barbering is not an exciting job. It’s either hectic and terrifying or so slow that more could be accomplished by taking a nap than standing around and waiting for customers. _

It was only about three or so in the afternoon and you felt like you’d been awake for more than two days. You  _ did _ live here, so you knew it was the morally right thing to do to help him out, especially if all you had to do was sweep and clean everything off on occasion, but it was so terribly  _ mind-numbing.  _

You wished you could say you had any coherent plans for any given moment the rest of the day so that you had even a basic excuse to leave. You hadn’t been able to find a bookstore to poke around, you didn’t find cathedrals particularly interesting other than the iron and stained-glass work, and Hyde Park was close enough that after a few times, walking to it and back became boring when you didn’t have someone with you. 

_ I wish I’d asked Alice if she’d come and visit today. Or yesterday. Or the day before that. It’s terribly boring having your only friend in London live almost all the way across town.  _

As you leaned against the broom and swayed gently on your toes, the rolled up newspaper on the mirror-cabinet caught your eye. Today’s issue wasn’t incredibly eye-catching, in your opinion- fuss about politicians, prisoners escaping shortly before getting caught again, and some illustrations for tonic and bakery ads that almost looked somewhat noteworthy. A queasy feeling settled in your stomach as you recalled the much more ghastly headline printed in the most enormous letters you had seen on a newspaper not six days earlier.

Philip had been sitting at the kitchen table and looking rather unhappy when you’d woken up that morning, bringing the paper so close to his face that he might as well have been trying to eat it.

Upon your less-than-bright-eyed and bushy-tailed entrance, he immediately began mumbling and spitting and fumbling about whilst gesturing with the paper.

_ “Absolutely terrible tragedy, (Y/N), dear. They suspect a m-m-oh good lord, I can barely say it- a  _ **_murder_ ** _ in the train station ‘cross town. The entire railroad was placed on hold- oh, gracious- _ ”

Needless to say, Philip had not wanted to take any trips to the East End, much less wanted you travelling over by yourself. You’d have been lying if you said the concept of someone being disposed of via train-track didn’t make your skin crawl, so you were nearly as hesitant as he was. 

For as soft-hearted as you were, you were almost every-bit as curious, however. It would have been rude, you figured, to not check on your friend who lived awfully close to such a terrible event… even if the event itself was not completely confirmed to have even happened.

Alice had not shared the same curiosity, which you supposed was fair. If one of the shops next door suddenly became a crime scene, you’d be too skittish to close your eyes at night. It struck you as odd, however, that she seemed more  _ annoyed _ than anything else.

Unbeknownst to you, you’d begun pushing the broom across the wooden floor around the now-empty chair while you thought of different varieties of nothing. Philip paused while wiping the water from his hands at his sink, peering at you as if you were an optical illusion. 

“(Y/N), dear? Is all well? You seem quite distracted.”

You looked up from your ‘work’, attempting to seem at least a little less sluggish, “Oh, I’m alright, Uncle. Trying to remember my… erm… recitations.”

“Ah,” he said in a tone of voice that indicated that he did not believe you. He pushed his glasses back up his nose and looked at you slyly through dusty-brown eyes, “Recite, then.”

You cleared your throat for a little too long and took a deep breath, grasping the broom in your hands… and promptly dipped your head without saying a word of any given poem, “You’ve caught me, Uncle. I’m terribly bored.”

“You could practice your violin, you know.”

The disdain showed on your face nearly immediately, “There’s a gentleman who plays on street corners that’s better than I’ll ever be- I’m no good with strings.”

“‘Gentleman’ is a strong word for one who plays on street corners, dear.” Philip tsk-tsk’ed, seemingly displeased with the idea.

You tapped your fingers against the broom handle as you walked it back to its corner, wondering whether or not asking to leave would be worth the effort of bargaining for it.  _ I’ve still not repaid that damaged book- it’s as good an excuse as any, I suppose. _

“Uncle, I’ve um, got matters to attend to, across town. May I-”

He snapped his head in your direction, equal parts concern and mild-irritation, “Across town?  _ Where  _ across town?”

You clasped your hands behind your back and rocked softly on your heels- you were prepared for the question, as it would be impossible that it hadn’t been coming, “I still owe Alice for a book I’ve damaged, you see. I thought I could check in on the Doctor, see whether or not he’s returned.”

Philip grimaced and sighed through his nose, running a hand over the top of his nearly-bald head. He tapped one finger to his nose and looked at you suspiciously, absolutely gathering you were asking for the former and not for the latter. 

Your uncle pointed at you, actually looking at you keenly through his spectacles at a normal distance for once, “No funny business, yes? Straight to the home, talk to the Liddel girl, check on the doctor, come straight back. Have I been clear?”

You nodded enthusiastically and made for the door, “Yes, Uncle, of course. I’ll be back before four o’clock-”

As your hand closed around the door-handle, you heard him call after you, “And, (Y/N), dear, please don’t uh… bring her to tea again.”

-

“Don’t bring her to tea, he says. ‘Don’t bring her to tea’, I’ll bring her to tea if I wish to. What will he do, chase us down the stairs? Or perhaps chase us  _ up _ the stairs- that’s even less likely, I should think.”

Despite the words leaving your mouth addressed to nobody in particular, you were hardly a contrarian to most people’s faces- you had contrary thoughts, everybody did, but if acting on them meant punishment, conflict, or an immediate nuisance, you usually absolved to keep them to yourself to write down on paper later in the day and burn them like any polite person would.

You had nowhere to put your hands with neither pockets nor purses to speak of. Instead, you were attempting to keep them occupied with a stray piece of ribbon- you had no clue where you’d acquired it, but you figured no-one was missing it anyhow. 

East End was sparsely populated today, but had a few people roaming hither and thither. Most of them looked to be manual laborers, muscled men with mean eyes and soot-smeared clothes. A couple of them were less intimidating; shopkeeps, call-women, and the gentleman on the corner with the violin. As you passed by him, you faintly heard him ask you what kind of music you liked in an effort to drum up business. You kept walking when you realized you had no coins to throw into his hat- you’d meant to keep a few spare, but it was one of the many things you had forgotten.

_ He is a better violinist than I, after all. I may as well throw in a coin or two when I have the chance. _

“I’m over here.”

You heard Alice’s voice from slightly past the way you’d come- glancing over, you saw that she was peering at you from around an alleyway’s corner. When you approached, she ducked back around into the shadows and brickwork, and you found her leaning against a blackened sooty wall once you joined her.

“What are you doing?” You asked as your eyes adjusted to the darkness.

Alice remained still for a moment before nodding her head back in the direction of a small group of children from the home. They were mostly clustered together around a stack of abandoned crates while warily glancing at you like a pack of weasels, there were a couple playing hopscotch, and one standing off to the side further away from either group. 

You leaned against the wall next to her and held your hands in front of you, “Do you… do you take care of them, then?”

“In a way,” said Alice, shifting from foot to foot as though she were in pain standing there- her left foot, you noticed, was in a constant state of movement, bouncing and tapping idly against the ground and sometimes the wall behind her.

_ She either speaks in fragments or in riddles. It’s more entertaining than listening to someone prattling on about the post, I suppose. _

The group on the crates kept looking between you both and back to each other as though they were waiting for you to steal their pocket-change, kick the crates in, or otherwise do something cruel. You looked down at your shoes, only mildly uncomfortable. You could hear them as well, their whispers carrying toward you in the echoing alcove. 

_ Back again? Oh, missy thinks it's safe ta come back a few days after the coppers cleaned up the station. _

_ It’s been more than a few days, she ain’t brave enough to come sniffin’ around here again.  _

“Do they have nothing better to do than gossip?” You whispered as softly as you could.

“It turns out when you have no money, there’s little to be done.” There was a sharpness to her words that almost sounded like she was scolding you, whether she intended to or not.

“It’s still rude to talk about people standing right in front of you as if they weren’t there,” you scoffed as you watched one of the children clear the hopscotch drawing at record pace, then promptly add three more squares.

Alice only half-turned to you, but before she could speak, you felt a bony rib cage brush up against your leg. The little white cat had returned, its fur spotty with dust but otherwise looking nearly the same as it had when you first arrived. You couldn’t help but smile and gently bent to let it sniff your hand, scratching it a little behind the ears.

“She always shows up when you arrive.” Alice sounded perplexed, leaning away from the wall to peer at the cat.

“Does she have a name? I think I asked you once before, but I don’t remember if you answered.” The cat lazily strutted from your right leg to your left before weaving its way to Alice’s, surely planning to leave white hairs on her socks once it took its leave.

“She doesn’t. I suppose we should give her one though.”

“We?”

“You might as well, she’s taken a fancy to you.” Alice’s fingers brushed the top of the cats head before pulling away, as if the feeling was unexpected. “I used to have cats, when I was little. A black one, Dinah.”

“That’s a very human name for a cat, but cats are like little people anyway, don’t you think? They’re very particular and have staunch opinions on things.” You were talking more to yourself at the moment as you considered possible names, which you’d never had to do for an animal.

“Hmm… what about… what about…” You tapped your chin- you didn’t notice that the chatter from the children had quieted somewhat, though they were still eyeing you both intensely. “Cirrus? Cumulus… hm, those sound rather boy-like.”

“Indeed…” Alice leaned down to pet the cat less hesitantly, her fingers combing through the fur on its back.

“What about Shilling?” You asked.

She made eye contact with you, much to your mild discomfort, but you did your best not to look away for fear of being rude, “If you told a cat it was a shilling, it might think you questioned its worth. Picky creatures.”

You couldn’t tell if she was joking or not, but you smiled softly in response automatically, “Fair enough, though some names do sound cute, no matter how little they’re worth. I used to know of a boy that people called Sixpence.”

“Know of?”

“I didn’t  _ know _ him, I knew  _ of _ him. I don’t even think I knew his real name.”

Alice snorted softly, turning her eyes back to the cat, “That’s fair, I suppose.”

You both stood there attempting to pet the cat as it see-sawed back and forth between you. For a white cat, she still remained surprisingly clean- she had a few spots of soot on her coat, but they were lighter than was usually seen on things her color. Looking at her heels, you noticed a few stains that looked to be green rather than black or brown.

_ Has this cat walked all the way from London to the countryside? The grass in Hyde Park was never this color. Cats are such resilient little things. She just trots out to the forest and pastures, pestering birds and butterflies, taking naps in the sunshine among the wheat and the- _

“Hollyhock.”

Alice looked up at you, more surprised than one typically should be speaking to someone standing next to her, “What?”

“Hollyhock- the white and purple flowers that grow in the countryside. Or-or Holly, for short- her fur is so white like snow. Or at the very least, it tries to be.” You straightened your back to lean against the wall again, crossing one foot in front of the other.

Alice followed suit, nearly mimicking your action movement for movement, “Hollyhock, then. She seems rather pleased with it.”

A chuckle left you as you did the barest equivalent of a curtsey to the cat, who was paying you absolutely no attention, “How do you do, Miss Hollyhock? Come to mingle with us city-folk for the day?”

Hollyhock stood propped against Alice’s legs, tail twitching. You shrugged your shoulders and held your hands together again and feigning distress, “I’ve tried to be polite, then, there’s not much else I can do.”

“There’s no reasoning with a cat, I’m afraid.”

“Was Dinah fickle?”

As Alice was about to speak she was once again interrupted, this time by a sharp and almost-glassy sound, stone against stone, that snapped loudly in the alleyway. Alice jumped back against the bricks with one foot up, and Hollyhock sprang forward and darted away with her fur standing all on ends and spiking up. As quickly as she’d come again, she was gone, disappeared into the street under carts and boxes and into better, less aggressive alleyways.

You’d curled your arms back onto yourself and had to slowly peel your eyes open, only to see that the children standing among the crates were pointing and laughing nigh unintelligibly. Alice reached down at her feet and picked up something- the hopscotch stone they had been using moments before.

“You pack of mongrels,” Her voice was sharp and high, and the children stopped laughing as hard as they had been when she took a few stiff steps toward them, “Wickedness, for no reason! You should be ashamed!”

One of the boys, one with a rather large hat, held his hands up and tried to sneer, “C’mon, c’mon, it was just a cat-”

Your eyebrows furrowed and you took a few strides away from the wall, hands clenched into fists at your side, “Just a cat? That cat has better manners than most people, including yourself.”

The boy barely even glanced at you, preoccupied with Alice, who was fuming much closer in front of him, “Mind yer own business, ya milksop-”

“ _ You  _ mind your  _ tongue. _ Just a cat? You’re just a boy, then, how’d you like it if somebody threw stones at  _ you _ ?” Alice raised her closed fist and the boy yelped and scrambled away, followed by the smaller pack of heathens and yelling words that you weren’t completely sure were even English.

You were nonetheless alarmed,  _ Was she actually going to- No, she couldn’t, she wouldn’t… would she? _

Alice turned her head to you, but did not look in your direction. She was blinking rather rapidly and breathing somewhat hard, her face attempting to untwist from its current state as a grimace. She turned her whole body toward you, stiffly, and opened the hand that she’d raised up- nothing fell out.

She opened the other hand and held out the stone- it was shaking a bit, and she said quietly, “I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t do that. And I know I shouldn’t scare them. But I can never abide cruelty to animals.”

The worry-knot in your belly nearly dissolved, but seeing her expression turn into a soft frown was hardly a comforting thing. Your back was taut and you unclenched your jaw as best you could.

“I um. I understand.” You swallowed, gently taking the stone from her palm when she made no move to indicate she was getting rid of it any time soon.

She rubbed her fingers together as if she were trying to rid them of an unpleasant texture. Alice seemed to be arguing with herself about something, her left foot beginning to bounce viciously once again.

“Why did you come here?”

It sounded more cryptic than you thought she meant it to be, as though she were asking for your life plans rather than your objective for the day. Nonetheless you answered on the straight and narrow, “Wanted to see what you were up to. It’s slow in the shop and it gets terribly lonely over there.”

Alice didn’t answer right away- you were guilty of this as well, so you paid it no mind. It went like this often, unfortunately: there would be moments where she seemed almost content with the situation, or at least with the conversation, then something troublesome would happen or you’d say a word that put a bad taste in her mouth. She’d become quiet or short, but in your opinion, she’d never been rude after such an event. You had no idea whether or not this was because you were used to clamming up and trying not to irritate people or because you’d made a good impression, though you gathered it was likely more of the former than the latter. 

“Would you like to go on a walk?” 

Alice blinked a few times and nodded mutely, still rubbing her fingers together. You gently placed the hopscotch rock on the ground and made your way out of the alley with Alice tailing near behind.

The hair on the back of your neck prickled uneasily.  _ She wasn’t going to throw that stone at that boy. She said she wouldn’t, and you usually take her word for things, so take her word for this. _

It was apparent that ‘flying off the handle’, as most bystanders so eloquently called it, was something that Alice did intermittently. Usually if you visited and she was quiet and reluctant to talk, she had done so earlier, but that was the most you typically had to deal with such things. You’d never actually been  _ present _ for it before, and it came and went so quickly that you wondered whether or not it could be classified as ‘flying off the handle’ at all. If this was the case, then you’d certainly done so yourself, albeit alone in your room or otherwise in a place where you couldn’t be seen.

_ Still, thinking you were about to see someone throw a stone at a child, even if it’s a very rude child, is mildly worrying. _

A glance stolen back at Alice revealed that her arms were crossed over her chest, and she looked as though she weren’t paying attention at all. You hesitantly slowed your pace and fell in-step beside her whilst trying to ignore the uneasy feeling that took root in your stomach.

“Where are we going?” Alice mumbled, catching you off guard.

You both brushed past a few ladies in tight corsets (Presumably, otherwise their waists were entirely too thin) who humphed and snorted, but you dealt with far too many of those types living in West End for it to matter. 

“Oh, I don’t know. I thought we’d better get out of the alley, at least.” 

Alice’s eyes flicked to your face before falling down again, still seeming to stare past everything she looked at. 

More than anything, you were trying to distract yourself, and if it distracted Alice too, then you weren’t one to complain. 

The market smelled absolutely dreadful. There was hardly a day when it didn’t reek of meat and blood and probably-rotten wood. Most of the time, you weren’t even near it long enough to even think about complaining, as getting eggs for Philip wasn’t a terribly time-consuming task. 

“There are four different butchers here- does London really need so much viscera?” You mumbled, wondering to yourself out loud and not really expecting a response- you didn’t get one.

You kept an eye out beside you for Alice, who seemed to be doing a little better, but still didn’t seem keen on speaking. Her eyes were more focused now, but they were narrowed, as if she were scrutinizing everything she saw. They snapped back and forth and moved with the different sounds in the environment but seemed to have no real goal, simply looking back and forth to observe the marketplace. 

You spotted a small patch of white slipping under the crates and dirty tables- it stopped and looked around before looking at you and continuing on, ears cocked this way and that with the overabundance of sound. 

“Hollyhock!” You pointed toward the cat once she squeezed out from behind a stand and into the side-street. “Do you know if she’s hurt?”

Alice tried to follow the cat with her eyes and ended up trying to follow her with her feet instead. She pushed past and looked back at you for a moment, “She seemed fine. Better safe than sorry.”

Her steps into the side street seemed hesitant- while you walked in, she stopped to dart her eyes around the arches and the rooftops with her footsteps slowing. You tried your best to keep an eye on the cat, who was running quickly with its ears flat and its belly very close to the ground. You overtook Alice at one point, not bothering to call the cat, as she didn’t know her own name. 

_ Even if she did know her name, cats don’t answer to them. I suppose if I were a cat, I wouldn’t need a name, anyway. _

The little patch of white dipped out into the main street again and Alice tilted her direction to follow it. You’d wound up in a completely different part of the market, now, though the smell of blood remained constant. It did, however, smell distinctly more of fish.

“Where’d she get off to?” You asked, leaning out from behind Alice as she stood in the middle of the doorway, eyes darting this way and that.

“I… I think she went over this way.” She strode out into the street again, dipping out of the way of a horse-drawn carriage that was not-so-gracefully attempting to squeeze through the thin road. 

You attempted to follow when she weaved further through the stalls and boxes, but were quite suddenly terrified by the grasp of a bony hand on your wrist. 

“GHAH-”

You yelped and jerked your hand away, whirling around on your heels and drawing your hands into fists (Not for the act of pugilism, but more out of reaction than anything). You skin felt as though it were  _ writhing _ on your arm, leaving you to fight the urge to rake your nails over the offending flesh while you tried to make sense of who grabbed you.

It took a moment to adjust to looking back into the darkness, but the first thing you noticed was light glinting off of a pair of glasses. A croaking old voice accompanied them, and the person stepped a little further out of the shadows. 

“Oh, apologies, dearie. Ah dinnae mean ta startle ye.”

An old woman was peering up at you down a rather large nose, one hand curled around a makeshift walking-stick that looked to actually be a branch she got from god knew where. She looked to be wearing a black or otherwise dirty shawl, and looked to have a freshly-healed cut underneath one beady eye. Her mouth puckered into a smile as she waved her shaky hand to beckon you. 

Your skin still prickled while you attempted to regard her in a polite manner as opposed to a horrified one. You nodded your head mutely and took a half-step forward. “Um, good-good morning, miss?”

“Good mornin’, indeed. Ye nearly jumped out of yer skin.”

_ You grabbed me out of the shadows, did you expect me to turn around and curtsey? _

She eyed you patiently, an adult waiting for a child to put two-and-two together. You weren’t known for caring to put two-and-two together at the best of times, however. Making a questioning sound but not really saying anything, you looked at her for any indication of what she might want.

She blinked and grinned crookedly, “Ah promise, twasn’t my intention tae give ye a fright. Saw ye walkin’ with my girl, but she does walk so  _ fast _ , you know- Ah wanted tae say hello, but she was outta the alley ‘for I could blink. Surprised me tae see she found some comp’ny.”

You cleared your throat and rubbed your fingers together to distract yourself from the itching sensation, “You know Alice, ma’am?”

“Oh, aye! Since she was a wee thing, knee-high tae a grasshopper,” her eyes glimmered as she spoke, hobbling forward, “Her dear old nurse, ah am.”

The market behind you suddenly sounded very, very loud- you didn’t have a headache, but you felt as though there were a pressure building behind your ears, that it might pop at any moment… whatever that entailed. 

“Do ye know, little bird?”

You looked back at her numbly, “Know what, ma’am?”

The old woman tsk-tsk’ed and grasped at the thread-bare shawl around her shoulders, shaking her head back and forth, “Oh, new tae London, that’s right. Ah was her nurse at Rutledge, poor thing. Figures she wouldn’t have mentioned it.”

You stared at her blankly. Evidently, the lack of connection was fairly obvious on your face. Her expression morphed into a scowl as she tutted again. “Oh, little bird. The asylum?”

She examined you from tip to toe with a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile on her face. You found yourself glancing around the alleyway nervously, shuffling one step backward. 

_ She… told me she was mad. She told me she was mad, I know she did, but did she mention the- _

“What are you doing?”

The sharp tone once again sent you spinning around and your heart-rate quickening. At the very least, you recognized that the voice was Alice, but you didn’t have much time to be grateful for that. She sounded shrill and accusatory, and when you faced her, you knew how it must have felt to be a rat caught in a trap.

“Can nobody in this city say hello instead of shouting or grabbing?” You hissed.

Alice came stalking forward, her fervor running thinner with each and every step. She stood slightly behind and to your right, leaving you between the two.

“Alice! There we are, dear, ah was wonderin’ where ya’d got off to.” The old woman held her arms out as if she were presenting something before quickly curling back in on herself. 

Standing stiffly, you glanced back and forth between them, “Yes, uh… she was just telling me that she knew you. At some… As-”

“I see.” Alice cut you off abruptly. You could feel her sharp stare beaming past your shoulder at the crouching old woman, who was looking between the two of you with a kind-enough face but very wicked eyes. 

“Ah won’t scare yer new friend away.  _ Pretty birds _ , the both of you,” After a moment, her eyes widened and she held her hand over a mouth as if remembering something, but she kept her eyes locked on Alice behind you. “Oh, dearie me. Ah’d invite you ta see my own pretty birds, but that dinnae end so well for me last time, did it?”

You felt Alice’s hand on your shoulder, turning you around- when you faced her, you saw her face had grown hard and steely, no longer vacant and wondering. 

“That’s quite enough. (Y/N), move along.” Her words were stilted, almost like it was her first time speaking. 

The woman behind you shuffled and humphed to herself, shouting out behind you with a slyness in her voice, “Yer not even gonna let us introduce ourselves, dear? You’re growin belligerent in yer old age.”

A few times, you tried to stop, only to feel her hand on your shoulder shoving you along. Her other hand was curled into a fist, and she had a mild scowl on her face. Another cold pit formed in your stomach the further you were pushed out into the street.

_ What on earth does that mean? ‘It didn’t end well for me’? A nurse at the Asylum? There is entirely too much going on today, it’s only been around an hour. _

By the time you’d been shoved past three different stands, Alice removed her hand from your shoulder and began walking faster than you once again. You didn’t know whether or not you should follow. Your stomach was turning anxiously as you replayed the events in your mind.

_ She nearly threw a stone at a child- or pretended to. I met an old woman in the shadows who told me that she was her nurse in an asylum. And judging by Alice’s reaction… that looks to be true. _

“Did you find Hollyhock, at least?” Your voice was thin and wispy as it left your mouth.

Alice kept walking but cast one tense glance back at you, “No.”

Wringing your hands together a few times, you fought the urge to head quickly back toward your home. The mood had changed considerably since the both of you had met up.  _ Is she cross with me? Perhaps I should be cross with her. Or… or wary, maybe. After all that, nobody would blame me. _

“What did she say?” Alice slowed to a normal walking pace but still kept in front of you.

Her voice made you double-take for a moment, “I um. She said… she was your old nurse? And that… she was surprised to see that you had some company?”

Alice scoffed, “Sounds like Pris.”

You quieted for a moment, looking at the grimy stonework and hand-carved signs that seemed to sprout out from every corner and stall in the alley advertising equally-disgusting wares, “... was she telling the truth?”

“About what?”

“You were in an asylum.”

Her hand flexed and unflexed a few times, “I told you I was mad. I don’t know why you’re surprised.” Her voice grew harsh and cold as she cast another glance back to you- you almost didn’t want to see.

“I don’t suppose I am,” You mumbled while you slipped by a man in a ratty overcoat who eyed you both with mild disdain, “I think my uncle thinks I’m mad.”

She chuckled disbelievingly, “You? You’re as timid as a mouse, but you aren’t mad.”

Quiet fell over the two of you for a moment as she stopped at a street corner. You’d ended up at one of the many edges of the River Thames, the water black and slimy-looking in the noon-day sun. There were a few more fisheries, but it seemed that most of the things inhabiting the dock were crates and the fishermen moving them around. No ships were currently at port, which was just fine with you.

“He wanted me to see the doctor for it.” You said quietly, standing with your hands behind your back.

Alice, who was standing beside you now, looked at you so sternly you thought you must have made her angry somehow. The harshness faded, but she still didn’t look happy.

You thought that perhaps the events of today had drained any possibility for a nice time to occur.  _ The first part was rather nice. I do hope Hollyhock is alright. _

You twiddled your thumbs and looked guiltily away. You couldn’t help but feel or wonder if any of this was your fault. Logic dictated that, no, a child throwing a stone at a cat and an old woman grabbing you from the shadows was not your fault in the least, but there still remained a sinking feeling in your belly that you couldn’t quite justify having there.

“I can head home, if you’d not like company at the moment.” You said quietly.

Her shoulders untensed a bit and sagged while she stood in thought. Alice took a deep breath and crossed her arms, her foot resuming tapping idly on the ground. She said nothing.

The stone in your belly dropped and you suddenly felt as though you were slightly to the left of your own body.  _ Why are you so upset? Sometimes bad things happen for no reason. Stiff upper lip, she may yell at you for crying. Am I really so close to crying? Behave. _

“...Are… are you alright?” 

You could hear the general direction of the voice, but couldn’t pinpoint where while you weren’t looking. You turned your head back towards Alice, not noticing the wobble in your own head. 

Her green eyes, normally dull, seemed brighter as she looked you up and down.

No words left your mouth. You were willing them to, trying to speak, but every time you got close, the vocal cords in the body that you weren’t entirely sure you were controlling remained still. 

Alice stepped up to you and held up her index finger, “Focus on this.” Her voice was soft and patient, as though she were speaking to a child.

Your consciousness didn’t follow, but your body did. She moved it slowly to the left, then to the right, as if performing the world’s slowest sleight of hand. “Follow it with your eyes.”

You followed Alice’s command that was worded so softly that it might have been a suggestion. She took a step closer and moved the finger in a diamond shape, then back and forth again.

In all honesty, you had absolutely no idea what she was doing. But the slow, easy to follow movements were able to distract you long enough that the befuddlement didn’t matter. You seemed to be coming closer to your body again. You tried to blink- you did. 

Your eyes were still focused on her finger as it pointed this way and that, focused enough that you didn’t register the curiosity that Alice regarded you with. To any outsider, this must have looked utterly bizarre, but luckily, not even the seagulls in the port that harassed passersby seemed to care.

Even if you could have full formulated the thought that she was staring at you, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. “I’m going to touch you now,” said Alice, “On your forehead.”

You blinked again.

The pad of her finger touched your face and your shoulders and neck tense as if you were thrust back into control of your limbs at a moment’s notice- for all intents and purposes, you had been. You were able to open your eyes more fully and finally returned Alice’s gaze- she studied you, but not in the way she typically did. Rather than observing you like a scientist observes a mouse, she seemed to be awaiting some sign that you snapped out of your short-lived and panic-induced stupor.

Your face becoming flushed and subsequently buried in your hands must have been enough of one, as she chuckled and covered her mouth while shuffling a space away.

“O-oh my goodness, I don’t know wh-what happened-”

“Oh, hush now, hush.” She still chuckled, but waved her hand dismissively, “I’ve just brought you back, don’t leave again so quickly.”

It felt as though you were sanding in a concentrated beam of sunlight with how hot your face felt.  _ Good lord, you’ve never done that in front of anyone else before.  _

“Nan used to do that for me.”

You slowly lowered your slightly-shaking hands, “...What?”

Alice held her arms close to her body and looked at the River Thames again, “I don’t remember it terribly well. She’d visit me in Rutledge on occasion. She’d do it to get my attention so I wouldn’t be distracted. It always seemed to work.”

She paused for a moment before continuing, “I’m sorry if I’ve frightened you. That wasn’t my intention. Normally I don’t have to mind my p’s and q’s and nobody in this god-forsaken city does either.”

You swallowed- your throat felt entirely too dry. Alice glanced back at you without turning her head. The sun filtered through the clouds and turned the normally gray-green sky a harsher fiery orange as it lowered, the shadows that framed her gaunt face accentuating the vivid green of her irises. Now that she stood lit against the sunset, you were able to see that her hair seemed to have a deeper auburn undertone rather than being simply black. 

Once again, it seemed you were speechless, but you were painfully aware that you were not having a mild out of body experience, and were instead just staring.

“... Thank you.” The words felt stupid and dull coming out of your mouth, but you could think of nothing else to say. 

Alice turned back to look at you, and the panic of nearly making eye contact managed to help you to look away. “Gh- ah. I mean, th-that is to say, uh… aherm. I-I appreciate the apology. I-I’ve reacted badly to things in a s-similar way on occasion.”

“Hm.” Her expression shifted to something more neutral and she cocked her head as if listening to something.

A bolt of coldness ran up your spine, noticing the sun’s position in the sky, “Uhm. W-what time is it?”

Alice turned her head, as if looking around for a clock, before following your gaze and giving her own estimate, “Perhaps four o’clock?”

You mumbled to yourself in mild distress, “Oh, rubbish, I was supposed to be back before tea- Uncle’s been so jumpy this past week, he’ll have my hide… in his own way, he’s not a very aggressive man.”

“The only good kind.”

You snorted and smiled in spite of yourself, “Agreed.” 

You gazed melancholic across the river to the other side of London-  _ your _ side of London- and muttered in a voice so small that you had meant to think it, “I don’t want to go.”

“What?” Alice asked, shaking your train of thought.

Sighing again, you began to shuffle dejectedly in the direction of London Bridge, but waited for Alice to follow. She fell in stride next to you, eyeing you curiously.

You walked slowly and quietly for a block or so,  _ I’m already late. What difference does ten minutes make?... Besides, it’s not as though you’ve anyone else you can walk in quiet with. Most people are too concerned with filling silence even when they’ve nothing to say. _

Unfortunately for you, you _ did _ have things to say, so you set about saying them.

“I told Uncle I was coming across the bridge to iron out some previous business and to check on the Doctor. A rather poor excuse in my opinion but it worked.”

“What did you come across for?”

“I wanted to see you. I like talking with you.” The frankness of your own statement nearly startled you, but you decided to let it linger for a bit instead of attempting to backpedal. It was already out of your mouth, after all.

Alice didn’t say anything, but the silence wasn’t cold as much as it was one of consideration.

Suddenly you felt quite tired- it wasn’t uncommon for you to be suddenly exhausted after mentally-taxing experiences, and they often hit at an inopportune time. You’d never been able to find a suitable term or word for it, whether or not it was a disease, etcetera, but it was highly irritating nonetheless.

Passersby eyed you, but afforded you no more attention than the seagulls floating lazily on the water. You mustered enough energy to speak again, your words slow and lethargic, “Alice? What was the book that I owed you for?”

Her eyes were following a carriage tottering along in the distance, “I’ve no idea of the title, to be perfectly honest. I kept it at the theatre- luckily it doesn’t seem to be one that many read very often, but still. A broken spine is a broken spine.”

You nodded dully, your arms folded in front of you whilst idly scratching the fabric of your dress, “Hmm… I’ve already overstayed my welcome here today, I suppose… would coming back tomorrow be alright? Will you have been toward the theatre by then?”

She returned your gaze with an only mildly mischievous grin.

“Why don’t we just go together?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh good lord, it's done- I've had most of this written since February, and I was never able to find an ending that I was quite comfortable with and I couldn't quite decide what direction I wanted to go next. 
> 
> I think I've decided, at the very least!
> 
> Thank you for your patience, and I hope you enjoy this chapter! It is a long one, haha! <3
> 
> -Bea


	4. AUTHOR'S UPDATE

HELLO DEAR READERS

I'm so sorry for my extended leave of absence, I promise I haven't forgotten this fic and I absolutely intend on finishing it!

Quite a few uh... harrowing life moments have occurred since the last chapter (( Totalled my first car, my now-ex-girlfriend having a psychotic break and cutting me out of her life, a now ex best friend also cutting me out of their life (This hurt arguably more than my girlfriend, as the best friend had been part of my life for three years and was a creative partner), and in better news, I now have a full time job and am working on getting my own apartment )).

The worst part? Most of chapter 3 has been written since February. I'm going to try and find a way to properly close it and get it posted!

Whenever I feel particularly down, I visit the comments left on this niche little fic and my heart swells- thank you for your support, it truly means the world to this sad little macaw!

\- Bea <3


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